


December

by RanOutofBatteries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry raises Tom, Master of Death Harry Potter, Time Travel, oh dear what have i done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 19:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15825237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RanOutofBatteries/pseuds/RanOutofBatteries
Summary: Harry sighed, running a hand through hair askew. His godson was planning world domination again, and Death was plotting right alongside him. "Tom, please refrain from destroying all of mankind as we know it."





	1. Chapter 1

Time-Turners were fragile machines.

Harry examined the small hourglass in the center of the necklace, seeing the cracks in its framework. It wouldn't work anymore; at least, not without great consequences. He tucked it back under his scarf before he could think any further about it. Better not to worry at the moment.

The orphanage loomed high above him, dark but welcoming with the warm lights still inside. His hands felt almost frozen in the brittle cold, and the streets were completely empty with blinding snow. Nobody would be stupid enough to have a morning walk in the middle of a blizzard, after all. He supposed he could count as an exception.

He remembered his purpose and his face hardened. His head turned to the right.

A shadowed figure came out of the alley, hunched over and struggling to continue walking. Harry came to intercept her just before she collapsed in front of the doors, one hand held protectively over her protruding stomach. She looked up at him in shock, but her knees quickly buckled as she grit her teeth in pain. Harry's expression turned to a steely confidence.

There was a young woman that came to attention as the two hustled in. Her face turned to alarm as Harry inclined his head toward the woman heavy with child, ordering her quickly to find a bed. "Please hurry."

They moved to a room further in the orphanage. He could see various heads peek curiously at them as they hurried through, but he had no time to look at any of them. He laid her down to stand at attention, watching evenly as the caretaker called a midwife to the door. The woman heaved, eyes wild with exertion, and Harry quickly cast a spell to ease her pain. He wasn't heartless.

He moved by her bed, and her eyes darted toward him as he walked in her peripheral vision. The caretaker glanced up at him nervously, but he calmed her with a grimace and a nod before sitting by the woman's side and she turned her focus back to the midwife. He bent down to whisper.

"I'll take care of him, Merope," he murmured, and her eyes widened even further. "Do not worry. He will become a fine wizard one day."

Her expression calmed with his words, and as he settled he placed two fingers on her forehead.  _Rest._

Her eyes fluttered shut just as they all heard a loud, wailing cry. The caretaker slumped with relief, but Harry did not. The midwife looked up at him as he gestured, in her hands the bundle-wrapped baby lay. Gently, he took the child and cradled it in both hands, and to their surprise the crying stopped.

"Wool's Orphanage, correct?" He addressed the caretaker. "I'm-"

To his alarm, he could feel the necklace beginning to spin again. He held it back firmly, his hand shoving itself in his pocket. He gave the baby back to the caretaker (who began crying again immediately after letting go), rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I cannot adopt him now. I'll be back in a few years' time. His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

He placed a small trinket in the midwife's hands with his other hand, the one that wasn't in his pocket. It was a small, golden locket. "Take care of this, please. Put it on him as soon as he learns to speak. He'll need it."

He bowed his head before they could ask anything and walked out the way he came, briskly as he could. He was beginning to flicker out, starting from the tips of his fingers and up his arm. He burst through the entrance and back out into the drifting snow, glancing once behind him as the time turner grew hot underneath his clothing.

He disappeared on New Year's Eve during a cold, early morning in 1926.

-December-

The orphanage remained as bleak as it had been before, if not worse since the growing tension and the strain on food supplies. Prices, slowly but surely, were rising once again. The strikes last May have proven that. Cracks were beginning to line the walls, but Mrs. Cole supposed that they've always been there and had just decided to show themselves.

Several years later, Tom Riddle had become quite the peculiar case.

Mrs. Cole pinched the bridge of her nose, attempting to push aside her brief migraine as she thought about the child. Both midwife and caretaker had been found with him, frantically babbling about the man who claimed he was to adopt the boy in a couple of years, and the locket he'd left behind. She turned the trinket in her hand, a bit apprehensive.

It wasn't as if Riddle was frighteningly talented. He'd learned to walk when he was one, which a few others have done as well. However, his eyes grew aware soon after that, seeming as if he could see right through her soul. She disliked having to be near the boy; with those eyes, it was as if he could eat her alive.

She briefly collected herself and called him down. It was best to have a good impression on the strange man, even if from Riddle. "Tom! Come down! I have something for you."

Footsteps trekked slowly down the stairs, one hand keeping him steady by using the bars. That was yet another thing about Riddle, she thought, lip curling. He liked being independent. The other caretakers thought him to be cute, walking along by himself, but to her it was surely to find trouble, whether for him or someone else. She held up the locket with one hand, and instantly his eyes were taken to it.

"What is it?" He asked, head tilting a bit. He looked almost predatory.

"The...man who wants to adopt you gave this as well," she bit out. The midwife and caretaker had found themselves drawn to the boy, and every night they had come to tell him about the man who'd made him stop crying as soon as he held him, the man who had placed his protection over him, the man that even his mother had found captivating before she died.

" _She opened her eyes soon after he'd left," she could hear Ms. Adeline, the midwife, gesture excitedly to Tom. He seemed to be staring right at the woman. "And as soon as she laid eyes on you, she smiled and said to thank him when he came back."_

Tom stood at attention as she placed it on him. He was entranced by the snake engraving on the front, and slowly his eyes widened. Mrs. Cole frowned. Did it mean something to him?

She stepped back quickly when she was done clasping it together. He gently picked up the locket with three fingers and turned it around before noticing she was still there. "Thank you, Mrs. Cole," he said, bowing his head, but she could see it in his eyes that he wasn't all there.

"Now back to bed, Tom."

Glad for his departure, Mrs. Cole turned to assess the paperwork on her desk. She sighed. She would have to do it, sooner or later. She shuffled off to work.

If she had turned to listen in at Tom's room that night, she would've heard a surprising bit of hissing noises occurring from its occupant. If she had nudged the door to peek in through the crack, she would've also noticed that the boy had opened it, along with the strange glowing that it emitted.

" _Hello, Tom,"_ the voice from the locket sounded faintly from within the room. The man on the other side sounded sheepish. " _As you can probably tell by now, this is a voice recording. This locket was your mother's heirloom."_

And behind closed doors, Tom first heard the man speak his name.

" _I'm sorry I never got to meet you in person,"_ he continued. The recording showed the man fidgeting a bit, wringing his hands together as if unsure where to put them. Tom stared at him, memorizing the dark hair, haphazard scarf, and glowing green eyes behind those oversized glasses of his. " _When you were old enough to remember, at least._ _I'll be busy for the next two to three years. As soon as I've finished my tasks, I'll be coming straight for you."_

That sounded a bit ominous, but Tom chuckled. Leave it to his unknown guardian to be straight to the point.

" _To tell the truth, I don't even know if you'll be able to open it at this point. Wait, what if he..."_ The man turned from the recording to mutter furiously to himself, flailing a bit as he did so, and Tom nearly smacked his head in exasperation. " _Anyway, the point is..."_

His expression turned completely serious, and whatever amusement Tom had left died in his throat. " _You're special, Tom. You're a child of magic. A wizard."_

Tom hadn't had much of an impression when he had first accepted the trinket. He didn't have an impression at all concerning the man, either. But when he spoke those words to him - the man was still speaking, but Tom had tuned out by then - his hand froze.

He knew the stories in the orphanage, the ones about fairies and dragons and the ones far in between, but he hadn't expected the word  _magic._ He had just begun his accidental bursts of emotion, and with it came events that had terrified the adults: flying silverware, books that tumbled down from high shelves, snakes near the garden. A grin began to light his face and he tuned back in as the man waved his arms. "- _and the creatures! They're everything you can ever imagine, Tom, the hippogriffs are my favorite, but there are so many I can't even begin to think, phoenixes, unicorns, mermen..."_

As Tom sat there, at the foot of the bed and entranced by the man on the other side of the locket, a seed of hope began to take root.

He laughed.

* * *

I've been thinking about this one for a while. I hope you liked it!

I'm in a writing phase and I don't think I've ever written this much in one week. I have so many drafts that I'm almost overwhelmed, but I'm going at them one at a time.


	2. Chapter 2

Post-war Harry had no need for the Elder Wand, and somehow, in some way, it kept coming back to him.

He had tried sending the wand back. In fact, he'd tried sending the ring along with it. After all three Hallows had inadvertently found themselves back into his possession, he cursed and had run from his post immediately.

It'd taken decades for him to finally accept his fate, along with the fact that he would long outlive his peers. That, more than anything, terrified him. And so he packed up and left.

The world he'd left behind had been devastated by whatever lunatic followers the dark lord had remaining. They had won the war, but at what cost? Dumbledore was gone, and so had Snape. McGonagall had become Headmaster, attempting to round up whatever students that had survived. He could not stay in that shell of a home, where everything had been destroyed and he could do nothing to change its fate. He grew more and more distant from the wizarding world, until finally he vanished without a trace. In that world, Harry had died.

He had never been afraid of Death, really. He'd met it too many times to be afraid anymore, and he briefly wondered what it would've been like if he had finally pushed himself over the edge instead of barely skirting over the line. He'd never know; not anymore, at least.

It was a hollow being, he realized when he had finally given up on running and decided to face it head-on. It had followed and had known that Harry would inevitably accept and adhere to its wishes. They had briefly studied each other until Harry said, entirely too forcefully, "Let's go mess shit up."

And now, halfway across the continent in 1927, Harry was having a less spectacular time as he dodged an incoming curse with a scowl.

There had been were murmurs along Germany of the man who'd challenged Grindelwald, broken his forces, and brought the attention of the international wizarding world. His fanatics had all been defeated and brought to the Ministry's doorstep without a word, wands taken without a trace. The wizarding community waited with breaths held, wondering when their nameless survivor would finally reveal themselves and defeat the dark lord once and for all.  _Well_ , he thought in aggravation,  _they would never find him._

Stunner, dodge,  _stupefy_ _._ Harry apparated, leaving one of the dark wizards yet again in front of the nearest baffled Auror.

"Hey, wait-" he shouted, but with a sharp  _crack_  he was gone without a trace. The Auror sighed, frustrated, but began to search the unconscious man without fail.

Harry, on the other hand, ran his fingers through his hair in contemplation as Death trailed after him with an ever-weary presence.

" _You have no need for a Time-Turner, Master,"_ he said, watching as Harry stared hard at the necklace. " _If you simply took the thing off, then you would not have to travel back and forth so much. It's beginning to take a toll on your body."_

 _"_ I'll be fine," Harry dismissed, waiting for the telltale glow to occur and slam him to who-knows-where. "It's taking me to where I need to be. I turned it myself, after all."

" _Not under this time pressure,"_ Death told him, emotionless. " _You're giving yourself this constraint."_

 _"_ I can't afford to-" Harry cleared his throat, finally glancing over at the dark figure trailing behind. "I can't afford to dawdle, anyway." For a moment, his eyes clouded over as he remembered another time, when everything was difficult but he was forced to follow this task, over and over and over again.

_The train was waiting for their last occupant. Harry stood by it, ever aware of the soul that had just passed by. He remembered this dream, and he felt hollow._

_He could hear Hermione as she had handed the turner over to him, expression sad. They both knew why he had left now; somehow, in some way, they had all known. "This was from when I needed to take multiple classes, Harry. You can have it now. I know you'll need it soon."_

_He had taken the necklace without hesitation, because why wouldn't he? Hermione had turned to finally rejoin her family, and he was left alone by the train station, nobody left by his side. Dumbledore, as always, waited beside him as they both looked over at the smoke in the distance, gaze melancholy._

_"I'm sorry, Harry," the man said as he stared forlornly towards the other side. "I know. I wouldn't have wished this fate upon anybody."_

_"It's funny," Harry replied, his hand inadvertently coming up to touch the scar at his forehead. "There were so many people who sought protection under the Deathly Hallows, and yet I remain the last one standing. I wish..."_

_Dumbledore simply shook his head. "If you didn't want to wish this fate upon anyone, then you would've taken it yourself. And here we are."_

_They sat by and watched the train disappear in the distance, and Harry had never felt so alone._

Death stared at him as he returned to the present, eternal and patiently awaiting his return. Harry was pretty sure he would tire of Death before Death tired of him, but its been years and he's somewhat settled on an uneasy acceptance. " _Out of all the masters I've had, you've taken the longest to succumb to the throes of immortality. You are no longer human, Master, and yet you still cling to these emotions."_

"Somebody's got to, don't they?" Harry replied, a too-cheeky grin forcing itself on his face as he turned back around. He didn't want to be reminded of the rift he now had from his long-gone friends. He knew that even if he tried, they would never go back to what they once were. "Grindelwald, Grindelwald... _Point Me."_

The wand in his hand spun quickly and focused to the east. Harry frowned but quickly moved through a series of apparations at certain intervals. He was getting close, both he and the Elder Wand could feel it.

He had chosen a time specifically before the Dark Lord could gain a seat of political power but could still be punished for the crimes he'd already made. He was dangerous, that man, for all his charisma and wit. Harry had no idea how he was still not found, even after the Elder Wand had come to Harry instead. He glanced down at the object in question: it thrummed with content. It had no desire to leave. He frowned.

" _He would be a terrible nuisance if given the three Hallows,"_ the hooded thing behind him spoke.  _"He desires power, and nothing else."_

"I didn't know you were biased," Harry teased. He was a little touched by it. Good to know.

Grindelwald was not one to be taken lightly, however. Harry twisted the wand in his hand contemplatively. He's escaped hundreds of trained Aurors, continuously on the run, and Harry would bet galleons that he was expecting a pursuer due to his precaution. 

The Elder Wand trembled with anticipation: it knew its previous owner well, and it was because of that fact that Harry slipped it into his robes as a warning. He did not want Grindelwald to see it for then he would know exactly what Harry was. A man who once was a human, wrapped up in Death's skin.

He felt another pang of sorrow, a coil of something he'd lost because he could no longer reach it anymore. No matter how much he craved contact with other living beings, he could not touch an animal without it being terrified of him. Only the thestrals seemed to be impervious to his existence, only due to the fact that they accepted any lonely soul who'd seen death and lived.

He wished he could've  _lived_ a little more, experienced what it felt like to be painfully mortal again, because from then on he looked at the world and saw how temporary it was. Maybe it had always been like that, but he'd just never come around to notice.

He could feel his magic before he saw him, and so he jerked back to attention just as he rounded the corner and came face-to-face with the darkest wizard alive.

_He felt a brief prickle of frustration at the back of his neck. He wondered if the man knew about all the potential he could have had, and how all of it was wasted trying to rule over the people who simply wanted their own lives._

Without even saying a word, Harry teleported them both to the glade beyond the woods. It was a place he'd known, long ago, in a dream somewhere that he could never find himself to forget. He would be heard, whether his companion wanted to listen or not.

Grindelwald looked briefly surprised, but upon making eye contact with Harry a wall seemed to take over. He slid easily back into his guarded facade, calculating yet impassive.

"Hi!" Harry said, waving cheerfully as to acknowledge the man. "I don't wish to fight at the moment. Please put your wand away."

They both knew that he had kept his former wand when the Elder Wand disappeared, and Harry carefully kept both wands at bay. He did not need distrust at the moment, only sound wariness. He showed both palms in a gesture that he would not be attacking anytime soon.

"Who are you?" The man asked, one brow arched. "I've felt your presence before. Your magic has been trailing me for months."

"My name is Harry," he replied nonchalantly, waving a hand to dismiss his claim. "And yes, you're right. I'd like to talk to you for a moment, then we can go back to our separate ways."

Grindelwald smiled, unearthly and yet so  _human._ "You haven't come here to fight? Me, the greatest enemy known to mankind?" His voice was mocking.

"Yes," he replied firmly. "I do not go back on my word. Now, I'd like for you to reply as truthfully as possible."

He conjured two seats with the wave of his hand, and two cups of tea floating in between them. Grindelwald's eyes sharpened at the gesture (no wand, how did he-), and his hand moved toward his wand again, but then he sighed and sat down in one of the sofas. Harry followed after. "What's the worst pain you've ever felt in your life?" He asked the man.

Grindelwald's eye twitched. He had not expected that. "What?"

"The worst pain I've ever felt," Harry said, continuing on, "was when I was 18. All my friends had either died or suffered watching the world become emaciated, and just when I thought it was over, I had been taken in by a group of dark wizards."

"They had me under the  _Crucio_ curse for about three days," Harry spoke, eyes dull, "without a break and without fail. It was a constant stream of agony, and by the time it was over I was a sobbing mess. Every limb was broken, every day was utter exhaustion. They might've gone for even longer if the Aurors didn't come find me. And do you know the worst part?" He asked. "The worst part was that they had been right next door, and it had slipped that nobody had come looking for me for most of the time because they had thought I was at home."

"I remember that day clearly. I wanted to be  _Obliviated_ because it had hurt so much that I would spasm every now and then because my pain receptors had gotten so out of it that they couldn't tell whether I was still in pain or not."

Harry chuckled. "That felt like centuries ago, to be honest."

"And why," Grindelwald drawled beside him, having picked up the tea from midair and was now tracing the rim with applaudable ease, "are you telling me your sob story when I have no reason to do so? Is it to tell me that I am at fault?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot. Trying to see if you had any morals left in that body of yours, at least. However, there is an issue I'd like to discuss."

He slowly drew out the Elder Wand. Grindelwald's gaze snapped to the object in his hands, and Harry held his other hand up. "I'll be returning this to you."

"Is this a trick?" He had dropped all pretense and was boring holes into him, frigid and foreboding. If Harry was a lesser being, he might've felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise in trepidation. "Why would you return the wand? This had disappeared a long time ago since Dumbledore had..."

"It's a great thing of immeasurable power, I'm sure," Harry said dryly, earning him a look in response. "In return, I would like a promise."  
  
"An Unbreakable Vow." Grindelwald glared back, eyes radiant with the promise of murder. "Fine, then. I withhold all rights to-"

"No, not a Vow," Harry interrupted his train of thought. "Just...a promise. Don't worry."

"I am very worried," Grindelwald replied rather sarcastically, much to his surprise. Harry blinked.

"Well, look at that. A dark lord has the capacity to have some humor in his conversation." Harry shook his head, staring up at the sky as if it would tell him the answers to everything. "I wonder how it went so wrong with the rest of him."

Grindelwald scowled back at that, but then his expression cleared. He seemed...pleased. "Harry, was it? I'll gladly take your offer. Tell me what you require."

Harry snorted and tossed the wand at him. Grindelwald caught it in midair, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. "Step one: make sure not to lose the bloody wand again. Well, not like that's your fault," he muttered, much to Grindelwald's sudden, assessing eye. "Anyway, step two: not really a step, actually, just a brief heads up, but I'll be bringing you to my home once every few weeks or so, in one year's time."

The man's gaze grew sharp,  _hungry_. Harry wondered what he'd seen with bemusement. "Inviting a man into your house? I'd much rather it be in mine, but I'll oblige."

Harry frowned, unobservant. "Yeah, well, too bad. I -  _oh shit!"_

The time turner had begun to spin again, much to both their alarm, and Harry threw Grindelwald without warning back to where he came from. "Goodbye for now," he called, to Grindelwald's brief face of irritation, and with a flash the man was gone. He turned from the chairs behind him, closed his eyes, and hurtled through time yet again for what seemed like seconds to him.

And in his hands, the Time-Turner finally lay dormant.

* * *

augh i wrote a bit more than i expected, i would've posted this yesterday if i didn't but oh well


	3. Chapter 3

oh boi

  

* * *

Tom thought of the man often. In fact, he thought of Harry in every waking moment, turning the locket over and over in his hands until the chain around his neck tightened up and he was forced to let go before he choked himself.

Four was an unlucky number, his caretakers reminded him, and his birthday had just passed a week ago. He had received the locket then as well. Mrs. Cole had claimed that Harry had wanted him to take the trinket at this age: was the man trying to insinuate something?

Apparently, the message was only a one-time recording before it fizzled out in a shower of small golden sparks. Tom had been mildly disappointed that he was now unable to play it back, since he had memorized most of the man's general features but would not be able to pick out any smaller details: otherwise, he was content. And how strange this feeling of contentment was, he admitted to himself, his hand falling over his stomach in a careless, slumping manner. He had not imagined  _anyone_  when he had envisioned his so-called-savior. Someone like that timidly kind caretaker that had worked here for several months or so, he thought, lips twitching faintly upward.

He picked at his bedsheets with an intense expression, his thoughts turning. Ever since he had gained coherency, he had noticed the differences between him and his peers: they had been doted upon, he had not. They had found entertainment in their ceaseless crying and their squabbles for the biggest portion in their meals, the warmest clothing, and any object in their grasp would be ruined by the time anyone had the chance to use it for its purpose. He was the lone child who sat in the corner and read, disinterested and disgusted in their acts. Billy Stubbs had taken his solitude for weakness. Tom had proven him otherwise.

And then there was Harry.

It was if a dam had broken through everything he had kept suppressed, locked out of reach where even he couldn't find. There had been doubt, of course: what was this? A fairy tale? How could a completely grown adult come out of nowhere and tell him with a straight face that magic was real and there were creatures outside these walls that he'd never dreamed of, that only in his bubble of solitude nobody else could do what he could?

And yet another part of him had relaxed completely, content with a single noise of opposition. He was  _not_ a freak. He was not weird. He was the odd one out in the place he lived in now, but his mind had expanded to another realm far beyond this.

Harry had mentioned that he had unattended business that he had to finish before he returned. The sharp, analytical voice inside his head prodded painfully at this thought: why had he been left, for four years, in this hell when there had been a guardian he could have had for even a moment, in person and alive? Was he not worth the time?

Sunlight streaked in through the window, and for a moment, Tom was nearly blinded by the reflection from the locket's surface. The snake seemed to hiss in disagreement with his words, and like a second instinct he opened the locket with the press of his fingers. The inside was hollow, smooth, with four small ridges to fit in a photograph as lockets often have. He felt around them carefully, tracing the outside in small circles. It soothed him for reasons he did not understand, but he was now undeniably attached to this locket. His keepsake.

He heard footsteps stomp up the stairs in a hurried manner, and Tom quickly shoved the locket under his shirt to hide it. The footsteps didn't sound like Billy, but if another caretaker saw it and stole it from him, accusing that it had been stolen, he would make them  _hurt._ A shiver of possession ran up his spine, and he turned to face the door just as it was slammed open.

Mrs. Cole seemed frazzled, holding up an unopened letter closed off with a wax seal. Tom's interest peaked. "For you," she said, handing it over and pulling away as if burnt. "It showed up out of nowhere on my desk. I don't even-"

He was focused entirely on the envelope handed to him. Slowly, he turned it over and read the name on the back.  _I'll see you soon._

His hair spiked upwards for a moment. Electricity ran up and down his arms, the energy running amok before dissipating into unfocused shocks of magic. Mrs. Cole continued to rant with her back turned, luckily, so she had not seen his reaction to the note. He could barely see her leaving.

_He was coming._

He shook with the anticipation. Cautiously, almost as if holding a viper refusing to bend to his will, he opened the envelope and took out the letter inside. The first two words made him blink.

_Hello, Tom._

His eyes stared at that line for a while, scanning it over and over again until he had to blink. The letters were written in a hasty scrawl, almost as if Harry was rushed. Either that, or he had some seriously messy handwriting. He almost didn't want to read any further on from that point, and so he closed his door hastily, climbing onto his bed and facing his back to the wall so that he would be alerted to the door if it opened again. His hands tightened around the note in excitement, and he continued reading with trepidation.

_I don't have much time to write. I'll tell you all about what I've been up to, but it doesn't seem as realistic when it's written on paper. I'll save the story for when I actually get to meet you._

_Stay safe. I'll be there by the end of the week._

Tom traced the last letter with his thumb, resting his head and shutting his eyes. Those words of encouragement: it was the only thing Tom needed, and he would hold Harry to it. Not for the first time, he felt something warm climb up his stomach, a pleasant feeling that he was safe and he would be safe in the future. He would be fine.

_Come soon, Harry._

-December-

Harry lived alone, and for a time he had planned to keep it that way.

For the first few worlds, he had once given some semblance of human normalities: greeting somewhat familiar acquaintances, helping whoever and whenever he could, bearing his heart to whoever he crossed paths with. And each time, he had left heartbroken.

He was not human, after all.

His lifespan was infinite. While he existed for as long as Time did and will continue to do, his friends would all die eventually. No matter how he clung to them, they would always drift from his fingers. Their lives were over: his would last forever.

Immortality scared him. For however fearless he was of Death (death was never the scary part), he could not bear the thought of letting himself become apathetic, cold, much like the name that had been given to him. And so he remained, purposely acting his role: he cared. For every life taken, he blessed another. For every man killed, he helped bandage over the hearts of the families that were still alive to grieve, wrapping the pieces together in some semblance of healing. It was painful, of course, but it worked: he kept his own heart and left it bleeding. Any emotion was better than none at all.

Death held no response to his actions, though Harry did feel a ripple of discontent whenever Harry stopped him from doing his work, saying, "just a bit longer, just a bit more time." Time did not stop for anything, and there were other lives that had to be sent to the afterlife. If Harry just used the Deathly Hallows like any normal master would, then it would be normal to prolong a life. But Harry only smiled.

"I know, Death." He closed his eyes. "Old age, disease, wounds that won't close over...I've seen it all. And I know you can't help all of them. But if only for one minute..."

He worked miracles under constraints, Death knew that well. Within the minute Harry had performed unimaginable feats, pulling the sick from the brink of death, aiding bad wounds or fixing symptoms without as much as a word of incantation. Just how far Harry would go, it could only guess. And it was strange, having such a purpose despite traveling with Death itself.

And he continued to do so despite them leaving from different causes: to help protect their lives for only one more grain in the hourglass, to let them return home and weep joy to their parents, their friends, to fix and to heal because more than anything else Harry wanted to be  _good._

And so he was afraid of living with a human again, but at the same time he was happy. His purpose was here. And no matter what, Harry would help Tom, because any child with that fate deserved even a bit of affection. And Harry had plenty of it to give.

Death tilted its head, gears spinning. "You would help the one who would become your worst enemy and rival? Are there no bitter feelings to return?"

Harry laughed. "Not anymore," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Not anymore."

Their house was dimly lit, but there were long sticks of pale yellow candles set in every corner of the house to make up for it. The garden was large to fit Harry's needs for any ingredients in potion-making, and the library reached sky-high in books. Grin set, Harry knocked on the door of the house that would eventually be theirs.

Kreacher slammed into him without warning.

"Where have you been, Master," the house-elf growled, shaking him with a surprisingly strong grip. " _He_ has been sitting here for about an hour now."

Harry blinked at him confusedly. "I didn't invite anyone," he protested, pulling him off by the back of his rags.

" _He has claimed otherwise,"_ Kreacher practically bit back, and Harry held his hands up in a placating manner.

"Yes, yes, thank you for entertaining our guest in the meantime," Harry replied bemusedly, shaking his head. "Now, who is this person again?"

"Gellert Grindelwald," the amused voice behind him spoke, and Harry turned to face the person who had just stepped out of the dining room. "Pleased to see you again, Harry."

Harry stared at him blankly. The time dragged on for a couple of moments, Harry's face uncomprehending, before he snapped with an exclamation that made Grindelwald twitch. "OH! I'd forgotten about the promise."

Kreacher face-palmed before turning to leave. "Master, please..."

"Right, of course, I actually do have a reason for inviting you here." Harry fumbled around in his pockets for a while, muttering to himself, before pulling out a slip of paper. "Uh, here is...nope, wait, wrong one..."

Grindelwald twitched as the man folded further into himself, wondering exactly what was wrong with the man's mental state.

The year had passed by with much difficulty. Grindelwald had not found even a trace of the man after Harry had left, and he had returned to his duties with a bit of vehemence. He was determined not to think of the man, refused to even speak of him, and wondered how in the hell someone like Harry had managed to steal the...the  _wand._

Grindelwald had gone after the Deathly Hallows with a fervor that nobody else had attempted, and after years of searching he had finally found  _one._ Only to lose it to a bespectacled, wiry man with no semblance of intelligence and a smile that spoke very little of the eons of sadness behind it. And even after the wand had been returned, it hummed with a different tune, moving as if longing to return to a different master, far, far away.

And Grindelwald was afraid.

He studied the man once again, taking brief notice of the flash of a scar on his forehead, the lumpy clothing, the completely at-ease expression he took as his brow furrowed in concentration.

Harry finally found what he was looking for and grinned in success, only to find Grindelwald staring at him as if he had just sucked on a lemon. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"Nothing," the man gritted out, gesturing for him to continue.

Harry read over the paper with a quick scan, his gaze flickering into something Grindelwald couldn't comprehend before glancing upward. That easygoing smile was long gone, replaced by a grim seriousness that had Grindelwald tensing. "Do you...like shortbread cookies?"

The room was silent.

"Are you serious," Grindelwald said with entirely too calm a reply. "I have been given a year, wondering how you've managed to steal the wand, only to be asked what preference of food I have. For cookies."

Harry nodded solemnly.

Grindelwald stood up. "I'm leaving."

"Wait! It's a very important question!" Harry proclaimed, waving his arms exaggeratedly. "Calm down, it was a joke, a joke."

As soon as Grindelwald sat down, however, Harry leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "it would be good to know, though."

"I am going to kill you," he replied pleasantly, and yet Harry's grin seemed to grow wider at the threat.

"Anyway," Harry continued, brushing aside the matter as if it hadn't occurred at all, "I'll be taking care of a godson of mine in the future. I've called you in so I could ask for a favor."

Grindelwald had a bad feeling that he knew where this was going. "Continue."

"If he ever grows a penchant for magic that I don't know or have the resources for, I'd like you to help him." Harry smiled.

The wizard could only stare in return. Soon, he thought internally as he casually reached up with both hands and put Harry in a crying chokehold, he would lose what remaining brain cells he had left to this man, and he could only hope for the best.

* * *

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH IM CRYING

I love this story so much, I'm trying not to be too surprised but holy SHIT im so happy for all the responses here. I'll be going back to fix Chapter 2 again, actually, Harry seems sorta awkward in his actions there so I'll be fixing that

SEE Y'ALL IN THE NEXT CHAPTER BYE


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